Music & Lyrics
by Michelle My Belle
Summary: A collection of mostly Lizzington ficlets inspired by music. Chapter 1: Swan Song - A musical reference to 'swan song' started this the day after 3x18. Then, MinP1072 suggested I try Athlete's "Black Swan Song" as well. This didn't end up like I thought in the beginning, nothing ever does, really, but after Lizzie's death, I couldn't really be stopped. AU: Lizzington.
_A/N: A musical reference to 'swan song' started this the day after 3x18. Then,_ _ **MinP1072**_ _suggested I try Athlete's "Black Swan Song" as well. This didn't end up like I thought in the beginning, nothing ever does, really, but after Lizzie's death, I couldn't really be stopped. AU: Lizzington._

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They were fighters; they were.

And then, something else entirely. Friends. Lovers.

She tries to remember the space in time before he filled up every hollow crevice in her life, but it's blurred with the overlap of triumph and trial. Now, all she knows is him: how he smells when he wakes, how he hums as he works to prepare dinner for them, how his once-commanding presence now calms and sets her heart at ease.

The flutter of life in her belly comes as a shock, but is not unwelcome. She fears his reaction, fears he will send her away, unwilling to go down that path in his life once again. It's a Wednesday afternoon when she gathers up the nerve to tell him. She puts a kettle of water on for tea, busying herself about the kitchen right up until the moment when she knows she can't wait any longer. Her taut tummy will soon give away her secrets and not for a second would she want him to find out from any other lips but hers.

"A baby?" he questions, the words weigh on his tongue. He seems rattled, confused. It's a new look for him but as his bare feet begin to pad back and forth across the Persian rug in his study, he suddenly stops, turns to her to find her shuddering and ghost-white. " _My baby?_ " he asks again, brow furrowed but a tiny, tentative smile slowly creeping up from his lips to his eyes as realization takes over.

"Your baby," she confirms and her words wash away his unbelief. It takes him less than a second to cross the room to her, lift her into his arms and spin her around, the most raucous laughter she's ever heard overflowing the room and spilling into the hardwood paneled hallway and up the stairs.

Her thoughts follow the sounds up, up, up to the vacant room at the top. A nursery, she thinks as she grips onto his shoulders. Just as quickly, she finds herself pulled flush against him, warm and safe, bathed in kisses to her temple and cheek.

Raymond Reddington rarely muddles with words, but she can tell this time that he is struggling.

"Lizzie. I'll never be able to tell you how happy you make me." It's the truest thing he can say in that moment, the words finally stumbling out as his lips brush softly against her warmed skin.

She hums contentedly in his arms, an abundance of joy washes through her. "We're a family now. And we'll never leave your side," she promises.

He hopes that can be true, too.

In simpler times, they cuddle and he runs a protective hand over her growing tummy. He rubs her feet in front of the fireplace that winter, doesn't comment on how they've started to subtly change their once bony shape. As astute as Red is, he not only notices but relishes every detail, everything about her that's changing.

 _Change is a selfish bastard_ , he think ruefully as the weeks creep closer and closer to forty. Their precious time as two will soon come to an end. Raymond is, as ever, ready and happy to be a father again, but he knows all too well of the complications of his child coming into the world and everything that means to his enemies.

Lizzie sits stone-still and silent when he tells her, lets her in on his plan to spirit her and their child away until he can complete his work of dismantling the Cabal from the inside out. He's procured all the forged documents, medical personnel, non-descript facilities and vehicles. She can only nod her understanding; it doesn't seem like her place to agree or disagree at this point. Red has existed with a singular purpose for years: keep her safe at any cost. Blind faith doesn't seem like much of a gift but she doesn't know, he can't tell her, it's all he's ever wanted from her. Having her love, too, is more than he would ever dare dream of but here she is.

The early signs of labor surprise even Red. A quick dial of a series of numbers into his phone puts their plan in play and in minutes, the ambulances are staged at their front door and at designated intervals throughout the city under tunnels and bridges. Lizzie hobbles to the open double doors at the back of the vehicle with Red close at her side, holding her crooked elbow in one hand and an overnight bag in the other. A cursory glance at the two shows just another couple nervously scrambling to the hospital, a doting father and a nervous mother.

Everything seems so normal on the surface.

Once inside, Red is all business, handing out orders, answering various phone calls in a tense, clipped tone. All Lizzie can do is lay on the gurney which is too small, even for her. Her hands clutch at her belly each time a random contraction overwhelms her abdomen with a tightening pain that spreads to her back. Each time he tries to get to her, tries to take her hands and do something, anything really, to relieve her.

It feels like hours but it's mere minutes before Mr. Kaplan and her mysterious assistant prep Lizzie for the C-section and deliver their baby girl. There's a cold silence for a frightening moment, the dizzying sway of the van through traffic is even drowned out by the stillness inside. Mr. Kaplan, completely unfazed reaches a rubber gloved finger over, folds back the receiving blanket and flicks the child's heel a few times.

And just like that, the flood of relief washes over mother and father as they hear their baby's first cry. Kate places the tiny bundle, (ten fingers, ten sweet toes,) into Lizzie's arms. She looks natural as a mother, as if she were born for such a time as this. She snuggles the baby as close as she can, taking it all in, her smell, the tiny sounds she makes as she exhales and it's like a symphony to Lizzie. Overwhelmed, she reaches out to take Red's hand, drawing his attention back up to her face from the baby's.

Outside the vehicle, chase cars and pass them and loop back to circle them again with guns drawn. They fire on Red and Lizzie's car, hitting the bulletproof glass enough in rapid succession to open tiny chinks in their armor.

A gentle caress of her cheek with the back of his hand, a worry creases his brow, because he knows.

And she knows.

It's time to go.

She sucks in a cleansing breath to steel herself and blows it out. What they're doing is best because she knows it is. Of course it is. Red is always steps ahead, planning for her safety.

Planning their future.

She furrows her sweaty brow, feeling the pang of guilt and worry for her newborn daughter. The baby girl with Red's eyes and Lizzie's nose. A perfect picture of love manifested and wrapped in a soft, pink blanket. She won't hold her again for several days but it might as well be years for the crack Lizzie feels in her chest at the thought. Someone else will give her her first meal, change her first diaper. She trusts, but still she aches.

Gripping Red's hand once more, she gives him a shallow nod, eyes intent on his, giving him the strength to do what he must. The tinny ring of bullets ricochet around them, but the air between them is electrified with a different kind of tension. Of all the thoughts that swim in her mind, she thinks about their last mission before she discovered her pregnancy. Marrakesh - the place Red had once died. The place of his rebirth, he told her while they were there. It felt good for him to finally share that with someone. When this was all over, hopefully she would understand in a completely new way.

He picks up the valve mask and holds the seal above her face, hovering for just one moment more before they say goodbye. Covering her mouth with the bag, he slowly starts to squeeze, keeping a steady rhythm to slowly introduce the neurotoxin. The symbolism finds him, winds mercilessly in his chest. Solomon had her in his clutches once, had run the tip of a knife over her body, skimming the outer edge of her breast and down her belly. He'd surely gut her at first chance if he hadn't been ordered to bring her in alive. Killing her to save her from Solomon was a huge risk.

It was all a risk, though. Loving her. Letting her love him back.

He watches Elizabeth Keen slip away peacefully, thinking about all the sacrifices she's made so far, all the sacrifices she'll make in the future. _It's the children whom the world almost breaks who grow up to save it._ He focuses on that, lets the tears prick at the corners of his eyes for the early moments with their daughter that she'll miss, for the sorrow her teammates will feel over her loss. For his own part, self-pity threatens to come at the thought of what he could have done to save her from this.

Gently, he leans over her body, dropping feather-light kisses to her eyelids but they don't flutter. He presses his lips into the back of her hand, holds her skin against his warm cheek but she doesn't respond. All the preparation could not have readied him for the look and feel of her lifeless body in his own hands - the very thing that will wake him in a cold sweat for years.

Her final performance as Elizabeth Keen is stunning, leaves him breathless and weak. He follows the zippered bag with his eyes until it is safe inside the van with Mr. Kaplan, the sight of it tearing a hole in his gut.

It is the both the easiest and hardest performance of his life.

The glorious, mid-morning sun reflects a warm glow on the slate patio. It's a stunning view, the snowy peaks in the distance, mist rising from the lake, Lizzie snuggling their daughter in a cane rocking chair. After the weeks apart and the long flight to Lucerne, he wants to run to her, gather her up in his arms but the sight of his precious family stops him where he stands.

She hears steps approach and somehow she knows, as if the time apart has only heightened her soul's awareness of him. Turning in her chair, their eyes connect and though it's a familiar feeling of comfort, there's something entirely new there, too. Something bold and dangerous.

Something like freedom.


End file.
